


Mervielle Studios

by Red_City



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Ballet, Celebrity Crush, Costumes, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Fluff, French, Living Together, M/M, Makeup, Pas de duex, Pointe Shoes, Props, Slow Build, Smut, Snark, Steve is a fanboy, Theatre, Tight Pants, Tony Has Issues, Tony is a dick, dance studio, lighting, tech, this is on pretty permanent hiatus - sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_City/pseuds/Red_City
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Work in progress - </p><p>Steve is the lead dancer at Nick Fury's Mervielle Ballet Studio, and Tony Stark is the new choreographer. Steve has been a fan of Stark for his whole life, but when his idol turns out to be an asshole, he's just a little pissed off. Tony has already developed a crush on the gorgeous blond dancer, and spends his time split between trying to woo Steve and pissing off Fury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. une

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Mervielle Studios 奇迹工作室](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768192) by [asadeseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asadeseki/pseuds/asadeseki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is on a lengthy and possible permanent hiatus, sorry.

“Rogers! Romanov!” Fury yelled from across stage, and if Steve hadn’t grown accustomed to the man barging in and interrupting rehearsal, he might have dropped Natasha, who he was holding up in a lift. The performance was supposed to be in three months, but with the recent loss of their choreographer, they didn’t really know when they’d be able to finish the show. All that had been done was the first piece, half of the second, and the last 40 measures of Steve and Natasha’s duet - their pas de duex - so they’d been practicing what they had.

“Yes, sir?” Steve asked, rotating to face the owner and director of Merveille Studios, the ballet company that Steve was employed by, without shifting or dropping Natasha. She lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head a centimeter to the left, annoyed by Fury.

“Stop showing off and put her down,” Fury said, crossing his arms. Steve frowned at the implication that he was showing off, but gently placed Natasha back on the ground, where she started picking at her nails, ignoring Fury completely.

“What can we do for you sir?” Steve asked, walking over to where his water was sitting on the edge of the stage. He took a long drink and turned back towards his director. 

“Ever heard of Tony Stark?”

“The genius choreographer who did Shakespeare’s works as ballets at Juilliard? Who also designed the new JARVIS smart board lighting operations system last year that outsold every other company combined?” Steve made himself stop, seeing Fury’s look of annoyance. “Yes, sir, I may have heard of him.”

“May have? I didn’t realize you were such a fangirl, Rogers,” Fury said, and Natasha rolled her eyes, which was basically a smile for her.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Well anyway, Potts got him on the phone, and ended up drawing up a contract with him. He’ll be finishing this production, as is signed on for the Christmas production as well. Just wanted to warn you that he’s coming in this afternoon and you both are expected to work with him and let him change whatever he wants.. He’s kind of a big deal, as I’m sure you’re aware, so play nice. I’m looking at you, Romanov.”

Natasha didn’t even acknowledge she had heard him, which wasn’t unusual, but Steve didn’t say anything either. His mind had gone blank when Fury had said that Tony Stark - THE Tony Stark - would be coming in that afternoon. 

“Rogers!” Fury said, and Steve head popped up, surprised.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir, Stark this afternoon, sir, thank you for telling us, sir,” Steve said, the words spilling out of his mouth faster than he had meant them to.

Fury exhaled sarcastically (Steve still wasn’t sure how the man managed to get so much disappointment into a breath) and stalked back to his office, disappearing into the stage right wing.

“So. Dreams do come true,” Natasha said, after a moment.

Steve glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at him, bent over with her leg straight up in the air, stretching.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, even though he knew.

“Oh, please. Everyone knows you’re a Stark fanboy. You have a freaking poster of him in your dressing room, a stack of magazines all about him, and you know everything he’s ever choreographed or invented. And that’s the stuff you keep here, I don’t even want to start on your apartment. You also knew how to run that new JARVIS light board before Bruce figured it out, and Bruce is a genius.”

“You would say that, you’re biased,” Steve shot back, but his face was flushed, embarrassed that everything she said was true. He _was_ a huge a fan, and had followed Tony Stark throughout his career, going to every performance that Stark had choreographed he could afford, and watching boot-leg versions online of any show he couldn’t make. He had read biographies, researched the shows and roles that Stark had danced when he began his career - he kept every magazine article, watched every interview, and knew every piece of lighting and sound equipment that Stark invented. Steve wasn’t really into the way things worked or electronics, but when he discovered that his favorite choreographer was also an inventor, he had learned everything he could.

Natasha straightened out. “I’m saying that apparently, dreams DO come true, because every single person that has ever had a 5 minute conversation with you knows that you love Tony Stark, and now you actually get to work with him.”

Steve started breathing a little too fast at her words, and sat down on the floor. Instead of asking if he was okay, Natasha’s lips quirked (her version of uproarious laughter) and sat next to him, though it seemed more like she floated down to the stage, her feline grace and control in every move she made.

“You gonna be able to deal?” Natasha asked, raising one brow.

“Yes. No. I don’t know yet,” Steve said, staring at the hardwood floor.  
“Well hurry up and catch your breath, I want to go over that fish dive in the coda again, it still feels a little stretched.”

Steve stood, and held a hand out to her. She took it, rising from the floor effortlessly, her long legs flexing beneath her. She stood in front of him, and he placed his hands on her delicate waist. 

“And five, six, seven, eight…”


	2. deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is inappropriate. Clint does what he wants.

Clint Barton should be flying scenery right now. Clint should be finishing up painting that tree on the stage right platform. Clint should be arguing with Bruce about how the lighting cues affect the color of his costumes. Clint should be doing ANYTHING but this - _this_ being receiving a blow job by the company's orchestra director, Phil Coulson, in the darkened orchestra pit, underneath the stage where Steve and Natasha are rehearsing their duet. 

Phil slid his lips off of Clint, and Clint gasped. 

“Shhhh,” Phil whispered, and even without being able to see his face, Clint knew he was grinning.

“Phil, this needs to stop happening,” Clint said, a little breathless.

“Funny, you weren’t complaining a minute ago.” His tongue flicked out to touch Clint’s tip, and Clint bit his lips closed to not make any noise.

“I have things I need to be doing...important things...none of which come to mind at the moment…” Clint gasped again as Phil’s mouth was on him again, hot and wet.

“Don’t worry,” Phil said, in between taking Clint into his mouth. “This won’t take long.”

Clint tried to respond, tried to pretend to be offended but couldn’t find any words once Phil really started in on him. All he could do was hold his breath so he didn’t groan with pleasure.

\--------------------

A few minutes later, they both stumbled out, clothes a little rumpled, into the shop. Bruce was there, sitting on the workbench, playing with his phone.

“You know, there are better places to do that,” he said, not even looking up.

“Shut up, Bruce,” Clint said, leaning in as Phil gave him a lingering kiss.

“I’ll see you later, I have to go over the score for the first movement with the new cellist,” Phil said, running his hand down Clint’s arm. Bruce made a gagging noise.

“Okay okay, what do you want?” Clint said, waving goodbye to Phil and turning towards Bruce, his eyes remaining on Phil’s ass until he turned the corner.

“Well one, I’d like you to stop having sex in the pit - “

“We didn’t have sex - “

“And second,” Bruce continued, “We need to talk about the unreasonably gigantic set piece you have in the wings right now. There is no way I can light that under the proscenium. It’s too tall, Clint, you always do this - it’s just because you like climbing things, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s totally not the reason. Why not rig up a couple LEDs behind the arch? Get a couple of the older ones, they’re short range - and they won’t light the curtains on fire.” Clint grinned at Bruce, who then rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do. But you need to stop making the sets so tall, they’re gonna piss me off,” Bruce said, waving his glasses at Clint. “And - 

“And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry!” Clint finished with him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Bruce rolled his eyes again, and walked off towards the booth to tweak the cues. 

Clint looked across to his work table, next to the bench where Bruce had been sitting. There were three sewing machines bolted down, one painted dark purple - the QUANTUM XL-5000 from Singer. This was Clint’s personal favorite, and the only thing he got territorial about. He wouldn’t even let Darcy, his second in command, touch it. No, she could work with the crappy new versions with their stupid computerized screens.

At the moment, Clint was having trouble deciding what to about Steve’s costume - the last choreographer for the company, this guy named Loki, had preferred long, flowing complicated drapes of fabric on almost every dancer. Clint had hated it. And now there was a new guy coming in, and he had no idea what the new standards would be. Clint himself was a great costume designer and had ideas out the wazoo for the show, but didn’t know if he should start implementing his own ideas without talking to the new guy first. He was still chewing on his thumbnail, patterns running through his head, when the shop door opened and Thor strode in.

Thor was a dancer in the ballet company, but he was absolutely massive and could lift enormously heavy things, which is why Clint employed him on the side to help with the sets. The show they were currently doing was a reworking of a play, and had a tower and a dragon and a shit ton of unnecessary stuff, but Fury was a theatrical and over dramatic bastard and unfortunately, still in charge.

“Thor, nice of you to show up,” Clint said, glancing up at the clock behind him. Thor was almost an hour late, not that Clint would’ve really noticed.

“My friend, according to Bruce, you were plenty occupied,” Thor smiled knowingly. “Sorry I was late, I was on the phone with my mother - you know, my dad…” Thor trailed off, his smile fading. Thor was originally from Nova Scotia, and his father was sick. Everyone knew about it, and they were all very careful about mentioning it.

“I’m not really mad, dude, just joking,” Clint said quickly, not really one to want to talk family, or emotions in general. “Wanna help me roll that damn tower out again? I need to check the color with the downstage lights, and Bruce is bitching about the top being too tall again.”

“Did I not tell you that would happen when we built it?” Thor asked, coming over to clap a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “You’re head is always too high up in the clouds!” Thor laughed at himself, (which he often did), and the sound of it boomed throughout the whole theatre. 

“Shut up, and get moving,” Clint said pushing the taller man towards the stage. 

The tower was painted grey and black, made to look like stone, and was on a platform with wheels. However, it took two to roll it safely, as there was a full staircase on the inside and it had to hold the weight of three people. It was hellishly heavy. Clint had a love-hate relationship with it - he loved how it looked and how well it had come together, but hated how cumbersome and annoying it was to position. He was pretty sure Thor - and Bruce - simply hated the thing, but Fury loved it so they couldn’t do shit about it. 

_Ha,_ he thought to himself. Then sighed, turning back to his sewing machine. He decided to just go for it, altering the costumes as he wished - he could deal with Fury’s backlash later, and he would just tell the new choreographer that that’s how the costumes already were. Whoever the guy was, he’d have to live with it.


	3. trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New characters, same gossip

Darcy wasn’t listening to Jane, which wasn’t a recent development, especially now that she was obsessing over Thor. They were in their favorite coffee place, and Darcy was eyeing the big chalkboard menu, trying to decide whether she could have whip cream or not. As a dancer, Darcy liked to stay in shape, keep thin, but she definitely wasn’t one of those girls that starved themselves. Already today she had had three meals, and it was only 4 in the afternoon.

“Jane, darling, I know you do love describing Thor’s rippling muscles in detail and how much you’d love to bone him against the ballet barre, but would you order for the love the God?” 

Jane’s breath sucked in and she glanced at the cashier, who was grinning at them, and smacked Darcy’s arm.

“Darcy! Shut up! Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Well? Is that not what you were doing?” Darcy asked her, sliding her card over to top of the counter.

“No, no! I was just SAYING, if you had been LISTENING to me that there’s apparently a new choreographer. He’s coming in for tonight’s rehearsal,” Jane said, pushing Darcy out of her way so she could order her typical passion fruity tea thing, which Darcy thought was ridiculous, who comes to a coffee place and doesn’t get coffee? 

“They found a new guy already?” She asked, checking her phone and frowning to see that she had a missed text from Clint. 

Clint: >>new choreo today - dunno name

“Yeah, apparently. He’s a big deal or something, all Tash told me was that Steve was flipping shit.”

“Huh.Why would Steve be flipping shit? Steve never flips shit, Steve never flips anything. Seriously, not even the bird. She had never seen him flip anyone off ever, even when Clint left that - “

“Darby!” The barista called, and Darcy rolled her eyes. _Every time,_ she thought.

“Well, do you know his name?” Darcy asked her, both walking over to the end of the counter.

“No, all she said was Steve was freaking out - I asked he who it was and she didn’t text me back,” Jane paused for a second. “Wait. You don’t think it’s - “

“No,” Darcy said, even though that’s exactly what she thought. “There’s no way. There’s NO way, we’re way too small for someone like - “

“But why would Steve be freaking out, like you said he never freaks out and he’s like obsessed with - “

“There’s NO WAY we pulled HIM! I mean Pepper is a fantastic coordinator, but there’s no way she got Tony-fucking-Stark to - “

“But what else could that mean?? You KNOW that he’s the only person that would make Steve freak and he IS a choreographer, I mean what if it’s HIM? What if we walk in there and TONY STARK - “

“No! I refuse to believe it!” Darcy shouted, now that they were out of the coffee place. “I, in fact, will bet you a new pair of pointe shoes that it is NOT Tony Stark because that is the most far-fetched thing I have ever heard. Tash must have been exaggerating. Or she’s playing us.”

“Fine!” Jane said, stopping suddenly. She held out a hand to Darcy, daring her with her eyes. “A new pair of pointe shoes if it’s Stark.”

Darcy stuck her tongue out, and then grabbed her hand, shaking it once. “Deal.”

Then they continued on their way, Jane going off about Thor again. Darcy rolled her eyes, but listened this time, saying over and over that Jane should just grow some lady balls and just ask him out. Jane smacked her, rolling her eyes right back.


	4. quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper has convinced Tony to try something new, and it comes with some unexpected assets. And asses.

“Pepper, you know I trust you with my life - “

“I’m glad I’ve instilled such confidence in you.”

“- but I feel like this isn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Tony Stark was in the backseat of a taxicab, on his way to some new ballet studio or theatre company something that he was apparently the new choreographer for. Tony hadn’t choreographed hardly at all in the last six years, focusing instead on the new light and sound systems he had developed after having to work in a theatre with the shittiest equipment he’d ever seen. One of his oldest friends, Pepper Potts, was in the seat next to him, looking over some files on a clipboard and more making snarky comments than actually listening to him complain. He knew Pepper from his one year attending college, back when he was pretending he would get a business degree and a respectable office job. Pepper had been the only reason he had even completed one year of school, and while she had continued on and was now one of the most powerful and influential people in the talent-managing field, Tony Stark had done okay for himself. He had auditioned for a dance company on a whim, ended up becoming one of their lead dancers, had the chance to choreograph, and then his career had taken off. Everyone worth their salt in the ballet world knew the name Tony Stark, and his brand of sound and lighting equipment was quickly becoming the most popular systems in the tech world as well. 

The two of them had kept in contact since college, somehow, and now Pepper was cashing in all of her favors to get Tony to work at this new company - some place she said “had potential.” Tony had never heard of it, so he didn’t want to even consider it, but she was very persuasive and had started bringing up all the things she had done and all the strings she had pulled over the years, and Tony caved before she got to the really embarrassing stuff.

“Well you can’t back out now, Tony, I’ve got your signature, and even if I hadn’t, you know I can forge it,” Pepper said, still mulling over her paperwork.

Tony sighed and looked out the window. He was not expecting to be impressed by this little theatre. Pepper had only told him bits and pieces, but she had said it only seated 400 - 400! That was nothing. And the owner and director’s name was Fury, which Tony thought better be extremely ironic or extremely accurate - no in-between, or he’d be disappointed. Tony liked black and white.

The cab stopped in front of a three-storied building that didn’t look big enough to house a theatre. 

“Here we are!” Pepper said, gathering up her papers and opening the door. Tony opened his door as well and stepped out of the cab, giving the driver more than he needed to. Whatever. 

He followed Pepper through the glass swinging door into a cozy little lobby, down to the right, took a left, right and then he stopped paying attention, pulling out his phone, following her by the sound of her heels on the floor. Tony nearly ran into her when she stopped in front of a wide door painted black, the word “FURY” painted across in huge letters. Tony looked up and squinted, smirking when he saw another “R” scratched into the wood before the “Y,” spelling “FURRY.” Okay, so this place might not be so bad.

“Enter!” A voice called from inside. Pepper pushed the door open and walked in, pulling Tony’s shirt sleeve to follow her.

In front of him was a tall, bald black man wearing a fucking trenchcoat and - no - seriously? A fucking EYEPATCH. The man had an eyepatch. Tony was trying desperatley not to start laughing, because he caught the look that Pepper sent him meaning _if-you-laugh-I-will-kill-you,_ but he was only half succeeding. 

“You must be Mr. Stark,” Fury said, walking around to the front of his desk. “Is there some sort of problem?”

“No problem with me, captain. Nice to make your acquaintance,” Tony said, and stuffed his phone into his back pocket. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, Tony, they have a rehearsal set up for you this afternoon. Which you would know if you read my email,” Pepper said, smiling apologetically at Fury.

“You know me too well to send me emails, Pep. Cool, rehearsal. Yeah, I’d like to see the space, and the script, whatever you have so far. I would also love to talk to your tech guys - Pepper told me you just recently installed my latest model?”

“Yes, Bruce is the technical director, he did all of that. You’ll meet him later. The cast is scheduled to start in about 20 minutes. I can show you around the backstage area, if you’d like, or we could just go out to the main stage. They’re warming up now.”

“Let’s go out to the house and watch rehearsal. I have a suspicion Tony will start rearranging backstage if we go back there right away.” Pepper smiled, Tony rolled his eyes, and Fury glared. Or maybe that was just his face, Tony couldn’t tell yet. 

“This way, “ Fury said, moving to the the door and holding it open for Pepper. Tony swore he could hear him growl as he passed.

They headed down a long corridor, and Tony tuned out the conversation in front of him, burying his face in his phone again. He found himself preferring the company of the Internet to people more often than not.   
The only problem with being so involved in his own little world was that he again ran into Pepper while she slowed to step into the main hall. Tony immediately started looking around on the ceiling, scrutinizing the lighting set up, the cables, and the available space to change everything, because that’s what he usually did. 

“Tony, what do you think?” Pepper asked, turning to him with raised eyebrows.

“It’s...actually okay. Okay, Pep, you were right. Again.” Tony smiled at her, and then looked over at the stage for the first time. 

Holy fuck, he thought, and found himself unable to look away.

There were maybe six dancers on stage, some of them warming up and stretching on the floor, but two were running through a partnered sequence upstage center - almost as if they wanted to be noticed. The woman was red-haired, long and thin, with creamy skin and a body that, on any other day, Tony would have put at the top of his priority list for the week. Today was not like any other day, and that was because of the man who was currently holding the woman into the air. 

He was tall, blond, wide-shouldered, and absolutely the most gorgeous person Tony had ever seen in his life. He was wearing sinfully tight dancer pants and a form-fitting tank top, showing off his arms - HIS ARMS - and his muscles bulged and rippled as he set the woman down, slowly, perfectly in control of his perfect body.

Pepper noticed he was staring, and sighed heavily before nudging him with her elbow.

"What? Yes. Beautiful. I mean, the theatre. Great. Yes," Tony said, freaking himself out by tripping over his words for the first time in years. Tony Stark did not trip over words. _Get a hold of yourself man, you've seen plenty of bombshell blonds before,_ he thought to himself, but he knew that was a lie. No one had ever come close  
to this.

Tony followed Pepper to a seat near the front in a daze, not wanting to stare but not being able to look anywhere else. He audibly gasped when the woman ran at the ran, leaping gracefully and being caught with such precision and fluidity that it seemed unearthly.

Unfortunately, the man on stage heard the gasp, and his gaze shot over to the origin of the sound. His eyes met Tony's and it was like getting shot. Such blue should not be legal - should not be POSSIBLE - in someone's eyes and Tony was instantly transfixed. The man's eyes widened and broke the gaze far too soon, and when he looked back towards his partner, a full-on blush spread across his cheeks. It did nothing but improve his features. Tony tried not to imagine how far down that blush went. It was really difficult.

"Okay, people," Fury shouted, "Let's run this thing. I've got your new choreographer here, Tony Stark - you may have heard of him. Just show him what we already had, listen to whatever the hell he says, and don't give me any bullshit."

One of the brunette girls on stage scoffed, blowing her bangs upwards, and Tony filed her away to make friends with later - he loved people who didn't respect authority.

A piano started playing a familiar song - apparently there was someone in the pit, and Pepper had made Tony listen to their show's soundtrack on repeat for the last two days - and the dance started. The show was a ballet sort of interpretation of Rapunzel, with dream-like sequences and no dialouge. This venue was a theatre and ballet company, but this show heavier in dance. It was pretty simple at first, the first number just with the women, but then got complicated. They were good - better than Tony had been expecting. They only had about 20 minutes of material finished, and honestly Tony only remembered about half of it because when the gorgeous blond guy was onstage he didn't pay attention to anything else. Pepper noticed.

There was another lift, at the end, and then Fury stood. Tony was shaken out of his trance.

"Okay people, this rehearsal is gonna run late. I expect you to give Stark the same respect you give me," Fury said, walking out to the aisle.

"So none, then," The red-head said, and Tony couldn't stop a laugh from escaping.

"Shut your trap, Romanov," Fury said, but there was no venom in it, and he stalked out of the theatre.

The stage fell silent, all of the dancers looking at Tony. He glanced at Pepper, and she waved her hand, back to her files and opening up her laptop. He rubbed his hands together and stood, walking out to the aisle and going up to the foot of the stage.

"All right, I need names," Tony said, jumping up on stage and spinning around, taking in the faces of the 10 - odd dancers and stage crew that had just been told to follow his directions. "I'm pretty crap with them, so don’t hate me, I’ll get them eventually."

Behind him, in the pit, a voice called up. "Phil Coulson, Music Director." A balding man with a gentle face looked up at him, arms crossed. "Nice to meet you."

"Hi," Tony said, and shot him a smile. He remained unimpressed. Tony turned back to the group on stage. "Okay, who's the Tech Director?"

"Bruce Banner, hi, that's me," a nervous looking man with curly hair said, stepping forward. Tony came up to him and shook his hand firmly.

"You and I are going to be friends," Tony said, smiling. "I like your set up already, and I never like other people's set-ups."

"Good, cool," Bruce said, smiling.

The man next to him stepped forward, sticking out his hand to shake as well. "Clint Barton, Stage Manager, costume designer, set designer and fill-in dancer, actor, whatever you need."

"My go-to guy, awesome," Tony said and kept moving through the circle. There was Jane, Darcy (the one who scoffed at Fury,) Thor, Skye, Leo, Jemma, two stoic looking dancers that only gave their last name, Ward and Hill, the redhead, Natasha, and Mr. Pinnacle of Perfect Genes, Steve Rogers. Tony tried not to let his hand linger too long in the other man’s grasp, but couldn’t help trailing his thumb over the warm skin on Roger’s knuckle. He didn’t even look up to meet Tony’s gaze, simply stated his name and shook hands, staring at the floor. _Odd,_ Tony thought, and the man had unwittingly piqued Tony’s curiosity. 

“So can we run that beginning bit again? That complicated thing in the middle with the double jump sequence isn’t exactly appealing to the eye - sorry-not-sorry to whoever choreographed it,” Tony said, looking around the circle for whoever would be offended, and found an awful lot of empty glares.

“What?” He asked, and the tech guy cleared his throat. 

“The ah - the last choreographer quit. Unexpectedly. It was - well, it was a relief. He was a difficult...person.”

Tony could tell that the tech guy - Bruce - was being really, really polite. It was obvious by the rest of the faces in the room that everyone had hated the last guy.

“Well that’s good - I’ve got some pretty low expectations to surpass.”

Steve - gorgeous, unfair Steve Rogers - snorted at that, and Tony turned and raised an eyebrow. Steve met his eyes for one second and then went back to staring at the floor. Again, Tony wondered why. Did this guy have a thing for hardwood floors?

_I could have a thing for HIS hardwood floor, if you know what I mean,_ Tony’s brain unhelpfully added.

“Shut up,” he muttered, then looked around, remembering that he was on a stage full of people. “Okay, back to sixteen counts before that first assemblé - we’ll make corrections as we go. You’ll have to follow me, piano man,” Tony shot over his shoulder at the music guy - Colslaw? maybe? - and started watching the dancers more closely. Well, more specifically, started watching Steve Rogers more closely, and vaguely glancing at the others once a measure, or so. This would be fun.


	5. cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is frustrated, and his new (gorgeous) choreographer isn't helping.

The rehearsal went for about 2 hours longer than they had planned, Stark re-working almost every piece they had done so far and starting in on the new one. Steve was exhausted and hungry and a little pissy because of it. When his metabolism dropped, he got annoyed more easily. It didn’t help that Darcy and Clint refused to call him anything but, “Steve the Snark Bear,” whenever he got like that. It definitely didn’t help.

He was also a little emotionally exhausted because of the nerve-wracking tension his body had refused to relax from while in the presence of Tony Stark. It had been both overwhelming and underwhelming to finally meet the object of his (slight) obsession. Stark had choreographed and communicated beautifully and efficiently, and they had done far more with him in one day than they had completed in weeks working with Loki. He was just as brilliant as his reputation and performances suggested. 

The only problem was that he was kind of a jerk. Steve had been annoyed almost instantly, after he had gotten over the initial shock of being in the same room as him, at Stark’s attitude. He was pushy and rude and not really open to suggestion, although they were all used to that, working with Loki. He had snapped at Clint about a set piece more than once, stopped the dance in the middle, twice, for little mistakes, and had Steve and Natasha go over their duet too many times, making Steve paranoid and start to forget the steps. They had gotten increasingly frustrated at each other until Stark finally called it a night and released them.

Steve had stalked back to his dressing room, slammed the door and stared up at the poster that was on the back of it. It was of Stark, on TIME magazine, posed as if in the middle of a step, glancing up at the camera with his trademark smirk. Ballet slippers lay on the ground in the background. Annoyed and impulsive, Steve almost ripped the thing from his wall, but made himself breathe deeply until his fists unclenched. Apparently, meeting your lifetime hero (and admittedly, lifetime celebrity crush) was a bigger let down than never meeting him at all.

Steve sighed. Maybe it was better this way. He grabbed his bag and shoved his water bottle into it, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. On his way out, he waved to Stan, the long-time janitor of the studio and walked out into the lobby, heading for the door.

“Steve, right? Rogers?” He heard a voice to his left call. Steve turned, both disappointed and unable to quell the flutters in his abdomen when his gaze landed on Tony Stark.

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” he said, awkwardly standing there, not knowing what to do. 

“You’re really talented, Rogers. I’m looking forward to working more with you. And your partner, what was her name, Russian sounding?”

“Natasha. Romanov.”

“Yeah, she’s great. Flexible as hell. I’m sure you appreciate that in more ways than one,” Tony said, smirking suggestively. Steve almost laughed at the thought of he and Romanov, knowing that she would probably kill him faster than date him.

“Um, no. There’s nothing going on there,” Steve said, even more uncomfortable now that Stark was making lewd suggestions. He had just met Steve that afternoon, how could he be so bold as to entrance upon his sexual endeavors? “Excuse me,” Steve said, shifting further towards the door.

“Whoa, Rogers, sorry, didn’t mean to insult, just making conversation,” Stark said, moving in between Steve and the exit. He was close now close enough to touch - _or kiss,_ Steve’s brain unhelpfully added. Now that that thought had crossed Steve’s mind, however, he couldn’t help the blush he was sure was spreading over his face. Stark quirked an eyebrow, and his eyes crinkled softly at the edges.

“No offense, but I’m not really interested in conversing with you about that. Or anything at the moment. Goodnight.” Steve pushed his way past Stark, ignoring the warmth of his arm as he brushed by. 

Tony half turned in surprise, catching the door as it swung shut behind Steve. “Goodnight!” He called after the dancer. Steve didn’t have to look back to know that there was a stupid smirk on that stupid handsome face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, I PROMISE I will write more soon. *mwah*


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons and Skye are making bets. Coulson and Ward are not amused.

“Twenty quid.”

“Thirty.”

“Fifty.”

“You haven’t got fifty.”

“Well, no, but I’m going to win aren’t I? So I won’t NEED fifty. Or any.”

Ward rolled his eyes as he listened to FitzSimmons up and up their bet on how long it would take for Stark to find out about Rogers’...crush? Obsession? Ward didn’t know what to call it. Whatever it was, it was Rogers’ problem, and Ward was NOT going to get involved. Last time he did, he lost 20 bucks and a whole lot of sleep. 

“What do you think the weirdest thing Steve knows about him is?” Skye asked from the couch, head in Jemma’s lap. 

“What do you mean?” Jemma asked, looking down with a frown.

“Well, you know, he’s been collecting stuff for - forever. And he’s obsessed - “

“Passionate,” Leo interrupted.

“ - so he’s got to know some dirt. I mean he’s practically an expert on the guy.”

“You’re absolutely right, he probably knows everything there is to know!” Jemma said excitedly, and Ward hid a smile when he noticed she was trying not to bounce up and down to not shake Skye. 

“I bet you it’ll happen by the end of the week,” Leo says, fiddling with something on his tablet. 

“No, Steve has got a tiny bit more subtlety than that. I’m going to say, three weeks.”

“And I’m going to say you’re not going to take bets on this,” Ward said, looking up from his computer. “It’s unprofessional.”

“Grant, don’t be ridiculous, it’s - 

“ - completely harmless, we’re just -”

“ - having a bit of fun,” they say together, finishing each other’s sentences in a way that still doesn’t leave Ward completely convinced of their claims that they’re not fucking. Both of them, actually, vehemently deny it.

“I don’t care how harmless you think it is, don’t do it.”

Jemma huffs a breath, blowing her bangs up.

“You are such a killjoy,” Skye says from her lap, and Ward raises an eyebrow. 

“Look who decided to join the conversation,” Leo says, poking her.

“Didn’t want to interrupt the FitzSimmons train of thought. You two are pretty entertaining,” Skye says, smiling with her eyes still closed. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before,” Jemma says, and Leo pokes Skye again. Skye opens her eyes and glared at him, to which he responds by poking harder. Jemma smacks his hand away.

“Will you guys quit it?” Coulson asks, dropping his keys into the dish at the door.

“Phil! We didn’t expect you back so soon. Not staying at Clint’s tonight?” Jemma asked brightly. Skye and Ward shared a conspiratorial glance. Leo was openly smiling. 

Coulson didn’t even react, his cool exterior as tight as always. “No, thank you for asking, but I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Not much sleeping happening over there, hm?” Skye asked, winking at him. Coulson gave her a half-hearted glare and made her way into the kitchen. 

“Leftovers?” He called out.

“Stir fry! May came over earlier and made it, so it’s good.” Skye rolled off of Jemma to join Coulson in the kitchen.

The four of them shared a loft, though more recently Coulson had been practically living at Barton’s place, and May had the apartment down the hall. She lived alone, and she was quiet, but since she moved in they had become sort of friends. She was more talkative with Coulson - apparently they had known each other before he became Music Director at Mervielle - and he was always badgering her about coming over and getting hired. She declined each time with a soft smile, but he hadn’t stopped asking. Ward didn’t know what she did or why Coulson was so adamant, but it wasn’t exactly his business to ask.

“So do you like the new guy?” Leo called into the kitchen, and they could hear the microwave turn on.

“Stark?” Coulson called back. “Not sure yet. He’s extremely talented and straightforward, and we got more done in that rehearsal than in a week with Loki.”

“That’s what I was saying earlier,” Ward said. “While the kids here were making bets.”

“Bets? I missed out on a bet?” The ding of the microwave was accompanied by the smell of food, and Coulson soon came back out into the main living area. 

“We were only SAYING,” Jemma said, shooting her equivalent of a glare at Ward, “That he’s bound to find out about Steve’s, ah, crush. Is it a crush? It’s more of an - “

“Interest? intrigue?” Leo supplied.

"Obsession?" Skye said.

“But not creepy.”

“Exactly.”

“He might find out, he might not. But if any of you TELL him, I will make sure you only dance in the third section. Yeah, you know the part I’m talking about.”

Leo, Jemma and Skye all groaned, Ward just grinned at his screen.

“Fine, fine. But I still say he’ll know by the end of the week,” Skye said, stealing a zucchini from Coulson’s plate.


	7. sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally finds out that Steve is a fanboy - HIS fanboy, specifically.

It was actually a week and a half before Tony found out about Steve’s fanboy status. It turned out to actually be Coulson’s fault, which was a cause of endless amusement to the other dancers. 

Rehearsal started like it had every day, Stark jumping right in, barely giving anyone time to breathe. Steve wasn’t complaining, they didn’t really have time to fool around. Not that the others didn’t try. Darcy was having a contest with Clint to see how many times they could Jane to blush by saying dirty things about Thor. Thor, thankfully, wasn’t paying them any attention and even if he was, he wouldn’t be offended by it. He’d probably join in and start making them all blush. Skye and Jemma were both teasing Leo about his haircut, which admittedly, wasn’t the best look for him. Hill and Ward were typically stoic. Natasha was - doing something, Steve was sure. She had this face when she was doing something mischievous, and it was on full blast. It was making Steve paranoid, and that was making his distracted. 

Phil was just as exasperated as Steve was, but it wasn’t quite enough to say anything. Tony didn’t seem to notice or care. Everyone was pretty distracted - they were working on this scene in act 2, and it was a complicated torrent of entrances and exits. Tony was practically rewriting it, changing everything, and it didn’t help that Bruce was setting lights at the same time and Phil was working with a new violinist for the first time. The stage was one giant mess of overstimulation and Steve was ready to be done even though they’d only been at it for two hours. Then, the lights went out.

“What the fuck?” Clint said. There was a huge crash of thunder, and Darcy yelped in surprise.

“I think the lightning hit the theatre - gimme a minute, I’ll see if I can get the power back,” Bruce shouted from somewhere in the house. Steve could see the bright square of his phone screen shining on the stairs as he made his way towards the stage.

“Well shit,” Tony said. “There goes rehearsal.”

“Actually, if someone wouldn’t mind grabbing a couple flashlights, we can still go over this section. This violin part is killer,” Coulson said, and Steve could hear the smile in his voice.

“Tell me about it,” the new guy said. What has his name? Sam?

“I’ve got a flashlight in my dressing room,” Steve said, already walking slowly to where he knew the stage right exit was. The room was dimly lit by cell phone screens, Darcy, Tony, Jemma and Skye had theirs out, but the room was still too dark to really see anything. 

He managed to find the edge of the stage, hands fumbling around, but then walked right into a supporting pole with a loud bang.  
“Shit!” He heard Darcy say.

“You okay, Steve?” Natasha called.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he said, rubbing his temple.

“Need a light?” 

Tony’s voice came from right behind him, and Steve turned to find the man standing close, phone lit up and shining on the floor. His features looked odd, lit from below, but he was smiling easily.

“Uh, sure.”

Tony followed Steve down the hallway and waited as he turned the knob on his dressing room door, only stepping one foot inside. The room was practically pitch black, but Steve knew it so well he found the drawer with the flashlight in it with ease. He clicked the button, and nothing happened. 

“Crap.”

“What? Tony asked, looking up from whatever he was doing on his phone.

“Batteries are dead..I think I might have extras somewhere, but I can’t see.”

“Here,” Tony said, coming further into the room and handing the phone to Steve. Steve took it after a moment’s hesitation and started rifling through the junk in his drawer, trying to remember if he actually bought more batteries or if he was just hoping he had.

“Do you not like me, or something?” Tony asked, and Steve paused, not expecting that and not knowing what to say.

“Uh, what?”

“It’s not like you’ve done anything specific to tip me off, you’re just - cold? I don’t know, man, we worked together 5 nights a week and you never talk to me unless you have to. I was just wondering if I pissed you off.”

Steve turned back towards Tony, even though he couldn’t see him very well -he was a blue outline in the dark room. 

“No, you haven’t done anything to piss me off.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t like me.”

Steve sighed, running his hand down his face. He did NOT want to have this conversation.

“No, it’s not that - it’s - you’re not what I expected.”

“What?”

“You’re - not what I expected,” Steve said again, hoping that would be enough.

“That’s not even an explanation.”

Steve turned back around, pushing his hand once more into the drawer, pretending to search for batteries but really just hoping Tony would let it drop and they could get out of here and back to stage where there were _other people_ and he would be safe. 

Then, of course, the lights came on. 

Steve blinked in the sudden light, trying to get his eyes to adjust. Then he heard a soft “What the fuck,” behind him. Steve looked around, and then almost smacked himself in the face for being so incredibly goddamn stupid. 

Tony was standing in the middle of his dressing room, phone in hand, staring up at the wall, slack-jawed and speechless. Steve’s eyes grew wide in horror, glancing around the room at all of the memorabilia and _evidence_ of his obsession. There were three posters on the walls, all full-body shots of Tony, playbills from at least two dozens shows that he had choreographed, a blueprint of the new StarkTech lighting board, at least ten newspaper clippings taped to his mirror, and a stack of magazines with Tony’s face on the cover. Tony was slowly turning in a circle, the shock written all over his face, phone practically falling out of his limp fingers. 

“What - what is - this is YOUR dressing room?” Tony finally asked, whirling around to face Steve, who’s fists were clenched at his sides and face bright red, trying desperately to think of something, ANYTHING, to explain this. There was no way out. 

“Um. Yes,” Steve said - he wasn’t going to lie about it. 

“You’ve got me plastered all over your walls, Rogers. Is that a BLUEPRINT?”

“Uh, yes,” Steve said again. This was going well.

“Is that?” Tony walked over to the wall opposite, where Steve had all of this playbills. “Oh my God, you didn’t go see that show. Really? AND that one? The lead in Othello was atrocious, I couldn’t teach him anything.”

Now Tony was thumbing through the pages on the walls, and Steve still didn’t know what to do.

“Now, the girl from Midsummers - she was great. And the fairy guy. Tuck? Muck? I can never remember his name.”

“Puck,” Steve corrected, and then regretted opening his mouth. Tony turned back towards him.

“You follow my career,” he said, taking a step closer. Steve didn’t respond. “And go to all my shows, and have magazine articles taped to your freakin’ wall.” Tony crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why?”

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest too. “Because...because.”

“Steve, this is not a ‘because’ kind of situation.”

“Maybe because you’re brilliant? Amazingly talented? Incredible to watch?”

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “What?”

“That’s why I follow your career and cut out articles and go to every show - even that horrendous Othello performance. You inspire me. Inspired me.”

“Meaning I don’t anymore?”

“No, that’s not - I work with you now.”

“Ah, that’s what you meant,” Tony said. “I’m not what you expected. What did you expect?”

“None of your business,” Steve replied, keeping his face a blank slate. 

“Is that the only reason? Inspiration? Why the full posters, then? You sure you don’t like looking?” Tony smirked, and Steve hated the feeling of his cheeks flush again.

“You know? Maybe before I knew you, yeah. But now that I know what a cocky, self-centered, hard ass you are, nope, I’m good with the looking for now. I found the batteries, so please get out of my dressing room.”

Tony was gaping again, but Steve didn’t stay to hear whatever he had to say. He pushed past him into the hallway, yelling, “Shut the light off!” Before bolting towards the stage. 

Tony stared at the open door, mouth still hanging open. He snapped it shut, blinked a few times, and looked around the room again, still not quite believing what had just happened. Still not believing that he had _said_ that, God, why did he always have to push other people’s buttons? And why Steve? He liked Steve, Steve was great, and now he definitely didn’t like Tony, regardless of the massive fan he had once been. It had just - it had been unexpected, to say the least. It was a knee-jerk reaction to throw snark and suggestive comments when he was uncomfortable, and anyone would have been caught off guard finding a room covered in their face. It wasn’t the creepy kind of fan either - no, that Tony could easily deal with and call the police on. No, Steve had said Tony inspired him. Steve had come to his shows and never once talked to him, collected his articles and never once contacted him. Steve was actually a fan, and Tony didn’t know what to do with that.

Tony clicked the light off and pulled the door shut, walking calmly down the hall back onto the stage. They got right back to rehearsal, and Steve didn’t make eye contact for the rest of the night. _Great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah ha ha ha ha ha haaa
> 
> (more soon)


End file.
